To Forgive and Forget
by snakelaces
Summary: Just keep breathing long enough to let them move on. One-shot.


_**Just keep breathing long enough to let them move on.**_

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**To Forgive and Forget**

* * *

It wasn't working.

Ciel's hand hovered over the paper, waiting hesitantly for the words to appear in his mind. They didn't. After a moment, he sighed tiredly and put down his quill.

He _wanted _to write, but the words just wouldn't come. They cowered, hidden deep in the dark recesses of his mind. Fear had knotted them into an incomprehensible jumble of print, and they were unable to untangle themselves and make the perilous leap onto the page. Ciel glared at the untouched, pristine parchment, as by unleashing the sheer force of his frustration he could shove his jumbled thoughts out of his mind and dump them down onto the page.

It wasn't working.

Ciel let out a groan. He closed his eyes and cradled his head between his hands, elbows resting on his mahogany desk. He ran his hands through his hair and sighed.

It was an impossible task. Still, there was nothing to be done. He owed them this at least, and Phantomhives did not leave their debts unpaid, no matter what the cost. He owed them so much. They had cared for him, been there for him when no one else would. Where everyone else had cowered in fear of his name, they had run to him, supported him, comforted him, _loved _him. What they had given him was priceless. It was a debt he could never repay.

And now, he was going to die. He knew that. Nothing could be done. But before he did, he had to give them all he could. All that was left of him to all that would be left of them.

Elizabeth. Frances. Finny. Bard. Mey-Rin. Tanaka. _Elizabeth_. They would all wonder what happened to him. If he had died, or lived, or loved, or left. But eventually they would realize that he was gone, and that he was never coming back. Ciel gave a small, hitching laugh. Yes, he'd be gone. The bastard would eat his soul, and he would be gone, _all gone,_ never to come back, never coming back. Never ever. Ciel sat, shaken by his strange, strangled laughter, and a tear plopped down onto the parchment.

He smiled sadly. They would all forget about him. Sure, they would all feel the loss. Some more than others, certainly, but they all would be bound by grief. Still, they _would_ heal. Time would wear away at their sadness, and the ropes that held them down would rot and fade away. They would move on with their lives. They would forget about him, forgot about the strange, sad little earl they'd all thought they'd known.

He knew that. And it was his job to help them along. He could never repay them for the love they'd given him, but he could give them closure. He could help them move on.

_But it just wasn't working._

Ciel just didn't know what to say. The best thing for them would be an explanation, a straightforward, clear-cut answer to all their doubts and worries. But he couldn't give them that.

After all, what would he say? "Hello, my perfect butler you all know and adore is actually an evil demon I contracted to avenge my parents, and he's hellbent on eating my soul. By the way, he'll probably have slaughtered me by the time you read this letter" wouldn't exactly work. Ciel's lips twisted into a facsimile of a smile, and the strange, shaky laugh fought its way back through his lips. They would think he had lost his mind, or that the letter was a joke, or a fake! Either way, they would be distraught, and the letter would only have increased his debt.

He couldn't say goodbye, either. They would think that he had left them or been kidnapped, and would search for him relentlessly. They would be tormented by his absence, always thinking that there was something they could have done. Ciel knew that. He knew them too well.

Despite all the power and influence that came with his position, Ciel couldn't arrange for word of his death to reach their ears. The people close to him weren't tuned into the underworld like he was, and his influence didn't stretch into legal sources. They knew Lau, just like they knew Sebastian, but he had no way of predicting the pair's actions after his imminent demise. They were just too unpredictable.

There wasn't anything he could say. Ciel hissed out a breath, anger and frustration coursing through him.

With a sudden, wild cry, he drew up his hand, and stabbed the dripping quill straight through the parchment, nailing it into the desk underneath and coloring the wood with bluish-black ink.

He breathed heavily. In and out. In and out. The pot of ink had overturned when he'd assaulted the bureau and the dark, thick liquid was slowly seeping out. In and out. In and out. Ciel tried to regulate his breathing, to calm himself down. In and out.

He tried to straighten the ink pot, but his hands were shaking, and his vision was blurry, and somehow it ended up broken on the floor.

In and out.

Ciel stood up, but everything was shaky, so he sat back down. If he couldn't rescue the carpet, at least he should retrieve the quill. He had to hide the evidence of his fit of temper from Sebastian. He couldn't show the demon how low he had sunk. So he pulled at the quill lodged inside the wood. He yanked it out and held it in his ink-stained hands and stared.

In and out.

Why couldn't he find the words he needed? It was only one small letter. Easily written. And yet he was paralyzed, unable to speak his mind, for his mind was mute and had forgotten what to say.

In and out.

It just wasn't working.

Ciel stood up and the world swam before his eyes. Shakily, he bent down and retrieved the fragments of the small, glass pot that lay on the carpet. The floor was badly stained, but there was nothing to be done. But it wasn't his problem, anyway. Not anymore. Whoever came into posession of the manor next would have to deal with it. They'd probably redecorate. He hoped they wouldn't make it too tacky.

Ciel cursed. He'd allowed his mind to wander, and it was all too willing to escape from the task at hand. After all, speculation about interior decorating was much easier than planning one's last letter.

He put the broken, inky pieces of the ink pot on a shelf and got a new one, which he set carefully down on his desk. The world tilted on its axis, and Ciel fell heavily down into his chair.

In and out. In and out.

Just keep breathing in and out.

Ciel closed his eyes.

An hour later, when Sebastian came to get him, both he and the letter were ready.

It read:

"I'm sorry".


End file.
